


three

by haogender



Series: rant fics [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Autism, Autistic Character, Rant Fic, author projecting onto jeon wonwoo, autistic jeon wonwoo, autistic wonwoo - Freeform, internalized ableism, lapslock, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haogender/pseuds/haogender
Summary: and he would bite his lip to stop himself from repeating an interesting word three times (not four, four was bad)
Series: rant fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713940
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

formalities were odd.

capitalisation in text messages, handshakes, small talk, honorifics, and titles.

it was all odd.

at least, that’s what nine year old wonwoo thought.

it has been suggested that wonwoo just thought himself morally superior with his ideas of ‘everyone is equal, so honorifics and respect based on age is bullshit’, but he didn’t feel superior. he felt uncomfortable. anxious.

his friends never had a problem with it- that was how he thought. his brain worked differently, some of them claimed. he took what acceptance he could get and continued to try to fit in as best as he could aside from the formalities thing.

at age fifteen (when did he turn fifteen? he was nine just weeks ago), wonwoo had locked himself in his room and cried for an hour because of the buzzing of the lights.

people were not supposed to be loud. they needed to be quiet. quiet, quiet, quiet. that’s what wonwoo thought one day, the next he was okay and he was with his friends and he was  happy and not tearing up because of the slightest touch or sound.

but sometimes a friend would come over and they would be studying and wonwoo would be so aware of the breathing and the noise and the pencil on paper and he couldn’t breathe.

he would cry silently and feel guilty because it was his fault. this was his fault. everyone else had no problem with this, what was wrong with him?

his friends didn’t know. they couldn’t. he was careful. careful, careful, careful.

wonwoo moved. always. his toes, his feet, his arms, his hands, his fingers. he would move his toes in his shoes when he was out in public or tap his middle finger against his thumb under a table.

and it was fine. it was fine because it wasn’t super obvious. he hid his movements, bit his lip to stop himself from repeating interesting words three times (not four, four was bad, two wasn’t enough, it felt unfinished, three was perfect, always perfect). he was forced to restrain himself for weeks or days from outbursts or meltdowns and it was fine because no one saw.

he would lock himself in his room (room, room, room) once a week, once a week every saturday (he liked the word, like the sound it made) and cry. cry, stomp, pick at his skin, pull at his hair.

and then he was fine. wonwoo would be fine until the next day, when he hears a noise or feels a bad texture or a bad sound in a song and can’t breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breathing is very weird.  
> this is all fast-paced, distressed. that’s how my brain is. that’s how wonwoo is here.

wonwoo was ready to cry. he prepared, always prepared. locked the bedroom door, said he was going to nap (nap, nap, nap). they took it as a ‘leave me alone and be quiet’, which wonwoo guessed it was. once a week, every saturday, everything was good on a saturday and wonwoo needed that time. he needed the time to cry and breathe, breathe when there were bad noises in his head and when he could hear everyone in the apartment moving and when he needed everything to shut up.

he used to go to the studio- to jihoon’s studio, to the universe factory. he would lie down on the couch and stare at the ceiling and the lights and breathe. jihoon found out someone had been coming when he wasn’t there and changed the password. it’s not like he knew why wonwoo was there or who was even coming in, and wonwoo was too embarrassed to tell him (he was weird, who needs a break from real life?).

and sometimes, hey, sometimes they wouldn’t quiet down. and he shouldn’t expect them to- it’s not like he asked, he never asked, never. but he would hear, hear the noise, bad noise, their voices from the living room and their individual rooms. and he would get angry, so angry, and cry because he couldn’t handle being angry like this at his friends, his family.

wonwoo was on the floor. on the floor, clutching his pillow against his chest, sitting with his back against the side of his bed.

he was on the floor clutching said tearstained pillow when seungcheol ( run, run, run! ) opened the door. didn’t lock, forgot to lock, how could he? stupid, stupid, stupid.

he was talking, was he talking? his mouth moved, it was moving and there were sounds, noises and wonwoo couldnt  understand .

seungcheol looked sad, so sad (sad, sad, sad) and wonwoo couldn’t breathe or speak or understand. he clutched the pillow tighter as seungcheol approached.

safe?

seungcheol was talking, why was he still talking? couldn’t he tell wonwoo didn’t understand? couldn’t he know? why didn’t he know? why didn’t he understand? why didn’t-

seungcheol’s hand was on his arm.

why? what was he doing? what was he saying?

he was speaking, there were words, he could see them, hear them, if he touched seungcheol’s chest or neck he could feel them but-

oh. his brain just went silent.

this was like when you’re playing a game and it crashes and you need to restart. that’s his brain.

restarting.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m undx at the moment but . hoping that my therapist will listen to me and i’m getting a different psychiatrist who won’t dismiss everything i say


End file.
